


A Trip To Paradise

by Britpacker



Series: Yours Alone [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, POV First Person, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-23 19:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9671885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Following the breaking of his unwanted Vulcan bond, Mr Tucker takes the love of his life for a very special vacation.





	1. Arrive At Sundown

**Author's Note:**

> Vignettes from a Tahitian holiday, as seen by a certain besotted Chief Engineer. Be warned - this is heavy on smut and sugar!

“Okay, this is where we get off.”

He’s sceptical, but he’s going with it. That should be good, but this quiet compliance is making me a nervous. Malcolm’s impatient. Asks more questions than a five-year-old on a day-long car trip. Yet since we reached Sydney, he’s done exactly as he’s told.

It’s not right. 

He tosses the backpack over his shoulder and grins expectantly at me, holding out a hand. He’s so damn trusting it’s starting to spook me now. I know I’m supposed to be flattered but this is a biggie, and right now I’m plain scared.

I promised him paradise. I don’t want to disappoint.

Maybe he’s just relieved to be off the back of that damn buggy!

I’ve been in damaged shuttlepods that’ve felt more stable, and I swear I’ll never doubt Mayweather’s flying skills again. Malcolm’s doing that whole _imperturbable_ thing but he’s looking a little locked around the knees and I don’t blame him, ‘cause mine have turned to water. I thought we were headed for a ditch back there.

He’s watching me: head cocked, lips puckered, like I’m an alien visitor he doesn’t think the cap’n should’ve let within fifty light years of critical systems. “This way.”

I’m so fucking nervous I can’t move. I need this to be _right_. 

I’ve screwed up so much with Malcolm. Put him through hell for loving me. Even lately, since I figured out how I feel about him it’s all been jumbled up with T’Pol and her freaky bond, holding me back from giving him everything he deserves.

Now that’s gone, and it scares me how much I love him. I want to wrap him up in adoration; prove to him how precious he is. I’ve been one selfish sonofabitch in the last couple of years - taken everything he offered and given nothing back. 

This is where it changes.

For the next six weeks, it’s all about him.

Except I chose the location. I made the arrangements. What kind of jerk brings the aquaphobic estranged son of a naval officer to a tropical fucking island on vacation?

One who likes scuba diving and laying on a beach. Yeah. That’d be me. 

Like I say – a selfish one.

“Trip.” Now we’re alone among the swaying palms he’s relaxed, losing a little of the stiffness from his posture. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” It’s a lie, and a bad one. “Malcolm, would you’ve preferred to go someplace else? I’ve kind of made all the decisions here…”

The little shit’s laughing at me. Not out loud, but with those dancing stormcloud eyes. “I believe I have a tongue in my head, Mistah Tuckah,” he coos, and I’m guessing the civilian title’s a good sign. “Really, Trip. If I wasn’t happy to lie on a beach for the next six weeks, I’d have said so.”

And nobody knows that damn tongue like I do, so I grab him by the hand and pull him along a narrow track through the trees toward the sound of the surf with my confidence restored. I’m the optimist, remember? This is going to work.

The vegetation doesn’t thin out. It just stops, leaving a lush green ribbon to fringe a broad belt of glistening white sand. Leastways, it’s probably white most of the day.

The guidebooks say _arrive at sunset_ for a reason. It’s spectacular.

The sky’s on fire and it’s set light to the sea. Oranges, crimsons and golds flare over the empty horizon; small foamy collars of white dance along the burning waves. Screw your alien wonders. This is the finest sunset I’ve ever seen and it’s right here on little old Earth.

I risk a peek at Malcolm, his gorgeous face upturned and gilded with the colours of the sky. “Wow,” he mouths.

I’m even more glad than usual to be holding his hand. It gives me something to focus on. Reminding me he’s been my anchor all this time, even when I didn’t know it. “Somethin’ else, isn’t it?”

Oh, that smile! Turns my heart right over when his eyes get crinkled at the corners and his teeth show in that big, honest grin. “I’m starting to think we’re wasting our time with all this strange new worlds business,” he says, and my heart skips a beat before I realise he’s kidding. “It’s glorious. Thanks for bringing me.”

“Hey, I promised you paradise, remember?”

“Trip.” He switches moods so fast my engines couldn’t keep up. Now he’s damn near rolling his eyes. “Four walls with a bed in the middle would’ve been that.”

“You say the sweetest things.” I hope this incredible sunset’s hiding it, because I’m blushing about as hot as that sinking sun. “I, uh, guess that’s probably our place.”

There’s one single structure backing into the trees: one of those neat little things up on stilts, built of rough timber and woven palm fronds, almost invisible against the background vegetation and with double doors that open wide onto the shore. “Wanna go check it out?”

He tears his eyes off the sunset and that bottom lip sticks out half a light year. “We can sit on the porch and watch the stars comin’ out?” I suggest. Anything to bring that smile back!

“Mmmm, and guess which ones we’ve seen up close.” That’s my Malcolm. Eternally curious.

Sitting together watching the stars does sound kind of nice. Especially if the other little treats I booked us have been delivered.

They have.

“Champagne?”

It’s perfectly chilled, and the big platter of tropical fruit’s as fresh as if it’s right off the tree. “Been a long day’s travelling,” I fumble, like I have to explain when he turns those big grey eyes on me. “Jupiter Station, Sydney, here… I figured we’d need a snack before bed.”

He accepts a flute and raises it gently to clink with mine. “Are you planning to spoil me like this for the whole holiday?” 

I’m leaning in to kiss him before I even think about it. “Yep.”

“Lovely.”

I’m thinking he may not be talking about the spoiling thing, the way he’s staring at my mouth. Pucker up, Tucker!

The fruit platter’s shoved aside and glory be! I’ve got a squirming lapful of Malcolm and yes, he tastes so much sweeter than those succulent mango slices, his tongue all slippery and supple, wrapping itself round mine. “Thought we were stargazin’?” I manage to gasp when he lets me up for air.

“They’re not out yet.” Smartass. But it feels good to hold him, the ocean breeze ruffling his hair and the colours of the sky shifting over the perfect planes and angles of that handsome face. “Pineapple?”

“That’s for you.”

“I’ll share.” If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is!

I hold a chunk to his lips and he bites down with a blissful moan while juice spurts all over his chin. Funny how it tastes better licked off scratchy male skin, a touch of salt sweat and the day’s growth of stubble raspy on my tongue. “Keep doing that and we certainly won’t see the stars come up,” Malcolm murmurs, winding his clever fingers through my hair.

I’ve seen stars up close. They’re pretty dull. ‘specially compared with him. 

If I just loosen up my muscles the way he tells folks to when they’re about to get tossed over his shoulder in the gym…

“Trip!” 

See, I paid attention all along. I’m flat on my back and he’s kind of sprawled all over me, huffing a little, half the air knocked out of his lungs. We’re rubbing together around the middle as he wriggles, trying to right himself, and it’s creating some awfully interesting friction. If I just put one hand on his hip, hold him steady right _there_ …

Bingo.

He freezes, except for his adam’s apple which is bouncing as hard as my cock. “That a spare hyperspanner or are you just happy to see me?” he manages, sounding a whole lot huskier than normal. Lift the ass, give a quick thrust, and I figure I’m not the only one feeling the planet start to spin a little faster.

“Always happy to hold you, Mal.” And getting happier by the second, my dick aligned with his, feeling him throb through two double layers of cotton. It’s like being plunged into warm water, soothing and stimulating at once, and then he dips in and kisses me again.

“I assume there _is_ a bedroom?”

Bedroom. That’d mean moving. I’m not sure I want to do that.

There again this wooden deck’s hell on the ass, and it’d be just like me to wind up with splinters in some awkward places. Least Phlox isn’t here to laugh at me.

Why am I thinking of him when Malcolm’s nibbling away at my neck? Dammit, he knows what that does to me!

I’m shivering. Tingling all over and the only place hotter than the side of my neck is deep down in my pants. Easy, Malcolm! I’ve got plans for tonight that don’t include me going off like a Yellowstone geyser in your hand!

He’s burrowing around in my boxers and if there’s one thing cleverer than his hot little mouth it’s those long, slim fingers. He’s pushing all the right buttons. Just below the head; slipping down the length of the vein. Is it just me, or is it getting foggy around here?

“Malcolm.” His name tastes so good, like fine wine on my tongue and he seems to like it too, seeing how he’s licking it right off. He said something about bed. All I have to do is figure out how to get there with all my bones turned to water.

Focus, Trip. You’re a Starfleet office, you can get on your feet. “Bed sounds pretty good right now.”

It looks even better; a big old square draped in fine white cotton with gauzy nets like veils sweeping down off a central hook in the roof. And it’s facing the doors too.

The sound of the ocean, the light of a rising moon and a horny, happy Malcolm rubbing against me like a bear on a tree. What more could a man want?

Oh, yeah. The clothes have gotta go, and with Malcolm in this mood that’s not going to be a problem.

My problem’s slowing him down. “Darlin’, lemme make it good for you.”

The direct route. I’m not dumb enough to try and out-strategize the best strategist in Starfleet, especially when my southerly brain’s in charge of the planning. It seems to work.

His head snaps back. His eyes, all silver and smoke, widen. His hands drop away from my buttons. “You did promise me paradise,” he murmurs.

“And I’m gonna deliver.” In the months we’ve been together I’ve learned a few of his secrets: the way he gets all squirmy and babbly when his nipples are being chewed; that spot at the back of his knees that almost shoots him through the ceiling; the lovely soft, sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs; and the place behind his balls where a touch gets him speakin’ in tongues. I thought I was closing in on my honours degree in Malcolm Studies.

I wasn’t even close.

I’ve never felt him shiver this way when I brush my mouth along his jaw. Never seen his pupils dilate, or heard his breathing hitch at the touch of my hand on his bare belly. Does he always make that cute little huff-mew sound when my whole weight comes down on him, covering him from those luscious dark curls to the tip of his toes?

I’m tearing up. There’s a Klingon inside my chest with his hand around my heart. I didn’t know I could feel this much!

“I love you.”

He smiles, slow and inviting. “Show me.”

So I do.


	2. Holed Below The Waterline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are settling in nicely, but there's an ocean out there. Can Trip persuade his friendly neighbourhood aquaphobic to take more than a careful paddle?

When’s the last time I was this relaxed? I’m not sure, but I figure I was too young to know anything about it.

We’ve been here five days and already I’ve forgotten what the words _Xindi, Terra Prime, Romulan_ and _Augment_ mean. There’s no universe beyond our little corner of Tahiti; no other beings but Malcolm and me. 

He smiles up at me, looking all young and happy as he kicks the frothy wavelets that lap our ankles. His hand’s warm in mine, his hip bumping me now and then as we adjust our strides to match. My legs are longer; he moves faster. Between the two of us, we’ve got to get this synchronisation thing licked.

While he karate-kicks the ocean I curl my toes into the wet sand. I always loved the feel of it squidging between them as a kid, used to plead and whine and beg ‘til Dad gave up and drove us to the coast. The water was the same bright blue off Florida too.

“Trip?” 

It’s scary, the way he reads me. “You’re holding my hand too tight,” he says, all apologetic ‘til I loose off my grip and lift those poor crushed fingers up for kissing better. That gets him saying my name a whole different way.

Kind of breathy and needy, it’s a way that bypasses my ear and lands right in my crotch. We’ve been paddling along in the surf for the last ten minutes and it’s nice – romantic, comfortable, tranquil - but now my body temperature’s rising. Maybe I need to get in a little deeper.

When I tug his arm, he resists. “It’s okay, Mal. Just a couple of steps, for me?”

When he nips his bottom lip I want to kick my own ass, but before I can retract it he’s shuffling out further, that intent little frown just tugging between his eyebrows as he feels the water kiss his ankle bones, then slide up to his calves. “It’s – quite pleasant,” he says and it’s the surprise in his voice that breaks me.

I step around him, my hands sliding up those strong, sinewy arms to his shoulders. There’s a nice sheen of sweat glistening on him and it works under my palms like the thinnest layer of lube. I worry about his pale skin - insist he lets me slather him in cream every time we venture beyond our front porch - but maybe I should’ve listened when he pushed me away, laughing that all he needs is the same light spray of Phlox’s magic mist as me.

He takes a gorgeous light bronze tan with no pinkness or burning at all, but I’m going to keep it up just for the chance to get my slippery hands all over him every morning. “You’re safe with me, darlin’” I tell him, more serious than I’d intended as I drown in his mesmerising, ever-changing eyes. “Just hold onto me, okay?”

Out comes the tongue, just dabbing a pouty bottom lip. He’s wavering - wanting to trust me but not quite there, and I can’t blame him. I’ve let him down more times, in more ways, than I ever want to remember, and whether I like it or not the scar tissue’s still there. Heck, if he wasn’t so crazy in love with me…

I’m giddy just thinking about it, and that always makes me reckless. Keeping my hands on his shoulders I take a big step into deeper water, letting it splash over my knees, little ripples caressing us when Malcolm lets himself follow, anchoring himself on my eyes. It’s okay darlin’. Just this once, Trip knows exactly what he’s doing.

I dip in and kiss him, long and slow, feeling his tongue slide along mine before it curls up to lap the roof of my mouth. Our bare torsos are rubbing, his arms locked around my waist and if I go a little deeper just _now_ I don’t think he’ll notice a thing.

His face is a picture when I back off and he realises the sea’s breached his personal waterline: the hem of his shorts is submerged and when I kneel it comes over my shoulders. It’s like being plunged into liquid sugar. I can’t stop myself moaning.

I’ve stayed out of the water so far. More than anything I need to be near Malcolm right now - talking with him, touching him, showing him how important he is to me. I won’t pretend I’ve not been tempted every morning (and they say the coral reefs are spectacular), but I’ve got a higher priority, and I didn’t think I’d get him more than a toe’s depth off the shore.

He grabs my shoulders and this close, leaning in to nose him, I can feel the tension creeping through his muscles. His feet are firmly planted, knees locked. He’s curious, but he’s not comfortable. 

Maybe I can take his mind off things.

Wrapping my arms around his trunk I lean and rest my face in his groin, letting out a good, slow breath that makes his cock twitch. Mouthing him gets me a quick thrust and a tug of fingers in my hair. It’s kind of good, that short stab of pain through my scalp. Grounding.

“Triiip!”

That’s almost a wheedle and it could mean anything from _what do you think you’re doing, you crazy damn hick?_ to _oh yes, do that again you gorgeous great hunk of Southern lovin’, you._ Given the way his dick’s reacting to being kissed through his clothes, I’m guessing that’s closer.

The shorts have to go.

I’ve already got my hands on his hips and with all the nuzzling business he’s too preoccupied to stop me sliding them down, getting all that pesky cotton out of the way. He’s bare underneath, all soft skin, crisp hair and that _smell_ , the deepest, richest musk in the universe. I’ve got to stick my nose right in, inhale him while I’m nudging those sweet sacs and yes, you hold on tighter darlin’, I’ve got you. Water? What water?

It’s rolling up round my neck; rippling against his thighs. It’s like being kissed all over, the kind of sweet, buttery kisses Malcolm gives right out of sleep when he’s not altogether sure of the who or the what, he just knows it feels too good to stop. Running my hands down his legs I can feel the rigidity easing more with every roll of the hip. He’s liking this.

In public. In the open air.

In the ocean. I’m convincing him to forget three of his little foibles at once, and damned if that don’t make me feel like the king of the universe.

I’ve been told I give great head: got real flexible throat muscles, most likely from all the talking I do. Time to put ‘em to use.

Flutter my tongue across the head; slide it around until I’ve got into the slit for a first taste; then a single stroke right down his length and he’s starting to whimper, the sweetest little sounds of pure _need_ weaving in with the plash of the waves. I find myself mimicking the water with my tongue, lapping his firming flesh, slipping over, under, around, never settling, never letting him know what’s coming next. 

Malcolm, hopefully.

He’s gripping my shoulder with one hand, the other working through my hair, long fingers spread, tips massaging my scalp. Pulling back I find him looking down at me through half-lidded, sleepy eyes. He’s flushed, all slack around the jaw and so into this he wouldn’t notice Travis crash-landing a shuttlepod on the beach. “Likin’ that?”

“Oh, very much.” He goes up a whole two octaves when I get my mouth around the broad head and even that old ingrained Reed politeness can’t hold him back from bucking, pushing himself a little deeper. With every move he makes the water’s splashing that bit harder against us and it must be stinging his more sensitive parts, but I guess he’s enjoying it. He likes it rough, sometimes.

A pinch to his inner thigh proves I’ve learned something and now I’m relaxing, letting him in. He feels amazing against the sensitive tissues of my mouth, what with the smooth velvet texture of his skin and the heat coming off his heavy, solid shaft. Given the way he’s panting, trying to get out my name but not quite makin’ it, it’s working for Malcolm too.

“C’mon darlin’.” Momma taught me never to talk with my mouth full but there’s something about having words vibrate through your cock that drives a man insane. While I’m licking and scraping him, I can’t deny Malcolm the extra little buzz. 

“Uuuuhhhh!”

Yeah. _That_ got him going. 

There’s a trembly kind of tension in his thighs now, like he’s fighting to hold himself back. Hot sun on his shoulders, hot hands wrapped ‘round his hips, hot mouth working his dick…. Most guys’d fall into it, let fire consume them, but Malcolm’s kind of conditioned to resist surrender. It’s just an incentive for me to work harder.

Wait a second, am I calling this _work?_

If I ease my grip a bit he can move more freely and when I give a good, hard pull that bumps him into the back of my throat he goes way past caring about being polite. 

The water’s slapping his ass so hard I can hear it over the thump of my own damn heartbeat, his whole body shaking, that bitter, salt-and-metal taste of pre-come slicking my tonsils. I’ve got to force my eyes open, make myself look up because he’s gorgeous this close to the edge, intent and focussed, totally lost in himself and the feelings he’s getting out of my mouth.

He’s babbling, making about as much sense as a Klingon without the UT. Bits of my name, pleas that peter out into desperate wails, fragmented obscenities, and I’m getting off on the sound of him, on the fullness of him in my throat. My cock’s so hard there’ll be corals growing on it by morning but I can’t spare it a hand now, got both mine full of writhing, whimpering Malcolm and at last thank God he’s coming, viscous and slimy, howling my name while he fucks and I suck for all I’ve got. He’s loose, almost liquid, slipping in my arms and it’s okay, I’ve got him. I’m never letting him go again.

On and on, how much has he got to give? It doesn’t matter, I can take it all, hyper-conscious of the sun on my shoulders and the cooler water deep down around my knees. He’s sobbing softly as he comes off the initial high, great big heaving convulsions settling into those splashy, nerve-tingling aftershocks you want to go on forever. I have to wrap my arms around his trunk to hold him upright and even so he’s toppling forward, sagging on my shoulder. I’m so hard it hurts, but I wouldn’t deal with myself now even if I could. Just holding him, easing him back to reality with light touches, whispered words… it makes me happier than any howlin’ orgasm.

“Mmmm, Trip.” Yes, he’s coming back now, blinking against the brightness off the water. “That was glorious.”

“I thought so.” Damn, that was smug enough for him! “Wanna head home?”

He keeps a hand on my shoulder while I stand, that perfect straight nose wrinkling when a baby-step reminds him his shorts are stuck on the seabed. Me, I’d be leaving ‘em but I know my Malcolm. With an extravagant bow I scoop them up and flip them over my shoulder. 

He’s shaking his head, the lovely silver-blue light of laughter in his eyes that I love to see, because he only gets it when he’s wondering how in hell he puts up with this crazy Southern fool of his. “Just as well I brought a few spare pairs,” he muses, nestling into the crook of my arm. Maybe he’s still feeling a little wobbly.

I’m not that steady myself as I guide him onto the beach. My head feels light, the taste of him still heady on my tongue. “How about a nap before dinner, darlin’?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Leading a stark naked Malcolm through the shallows I can only agree. Everything seems pretty damn perfect to me.


	3. His Kind Of Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the best-matched lovers can have very different interests. The trick is in accommodating both...

The reefs around here are incredible. Jon would love this.

He can come on his own someday. Because no way am I inviting my captain and his dog to share any vacation with Malcolm and me. 

He’s got a stack of books – the old paper kind as well as the stuff he downloaded from the ship’s database – to keep him happy; and I’m not convinced he hasn’t snuck one or two of the latest research papers from the munitions division onto his PADD too, because he was mighty engrossed when I got back from my swim yesterday. 

Rolling onto my front I stroke my way in toward the beach, already peering towards the big umbrella we put up every morning for a little shade. No sign of Malcolm, but that’s okay; he needs to pee sometime, and it’s almost noon. He’s probably puttered inside to check out what the food fairies have brought for lunch today.

He’s silly sometimes. Most folks never get to realise that. There’s a bunch of very discreet locals who prepare and deliver our meals and restock the refrigeration unit with milk, wine and fruit juice every day, all employed by the same company that supplied that maniac of a buggy driver. They’re good, too. However hard we try, we never see ‘em coming. So Malcolm decides they’re _food fairies from the forest._

Just when I’ve concluded he’s crouched beneath the platform, dodging the stilts supporting it in some kind of weird stakeout, I see him. Halfway down the beach, butt in the air as he digs into the sand. Wait a minute – he brought a bucket and spade?

I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s the man who put the facial features – and the Vulcan ears – on Travis’s comet snowman and like I say – he’s silly, sometimes.

Whoa! That’s some sandcastle.

It must be five metres across: an irregular platform raised up behind solid banks built out of the sand he’s dug from the ditches all round; levelled off at the top with small mounds, probably gun emplacements knowing him, and arrow-shaped blocks out at all four corners. “You buildin’ us a palace or something?” I holler.

When he grins I swear he looks all of eight years old. “Shorncliffe Redoubt,” he shouts back, like it’s obvious. “Napoleonic fort.”

Riiigghht.

Guess if I can dive coral reefs, he can build himself an old-time military camp on the beach. It beats the hell out of visiting them!

Now I’m getting closer I can see he’s going whole-hog, modelling little cannons to post on his ramparts. There’s a big flat square I’m guessing’s the parade ground and small blocks for barracks, kitchens and of course, being Malcolm, he’s scratched neat titles into sand. It’s mighty impressive for half a morning’s work. 

“Downloaded the schematics while we were waiting for the shuttle,” he says happily while I flop into the shade and grab a jug of ice-cold mango juice that damn near slides through my wet hand. “Careful! I only brought that out a minute ago. Didn’t want to put off the fairies by scurrying back while they’re busy. They mightn’t leave us any lunch!”

“If they don’t, we’re askin’ for our money back.” Probably shouldn’t have said that, he’s a little touchy about _not paying his way_ but my luck’s in: engrossed in his military construction project, Malcolm laughs.

I’m beginning to get what he meant the other day. He told me he doesn’t mind me swimming off (so long as I stay within earshot so if I get into trouble he can yell for help of course – always limits with Malcolm) to explore because _I like seeing you happy, Trip._ I’m being ignored right now while he shaves a little more off a rampart here and digs the ditch a couple of centimetres deeper there and I’m not objecting one bit, because I love to see Malcolm like this.

Relaxed. Happy. Having his kind of fun.

I pretend to read for a bit but really I’m peeking over the top of my PADD to watch him. “Did you go building military installations as a kid?” I wonder. He snickers.

“If my father was here – and thank God he isn’t I might add – you’d be looking at a detailed map of Nelson’s battle plan at Trafalgar by now,” he says seriously. “Complete with little arrows to show each ship’s course. English beaches don’t tend to be deserted and when Dad got going he could take up rather a lot of territory…”

“Ouch.”

“We didn’t go to the beach often.”

“But you still learned to sail.” I can’t wrap my brain around that one. What kind of dad is it forces his aquaphobic little boy to do that?

“Chap never conquers his fears by running away from them, boy.” I’ve never met the guy but I know that bark’s the authentic voice of Captain Stuart Reed R.N. and it changes everything about his son - right until he grins and he’s Malcolm again. “I’m a dab hand with a boat thanks to him. Still petrified of falling in though. Hey-up! Hear that buzzing sound? I think that’s our lunch pixies flying away.”

I wouldn’t have caught it, that faint swarm-of-mosquitoes hum in the distance, but no matter how relaxed he is those hyper-trained security senses don’t shut down. “Pixies don’t have wings, Malcolm,” I tell him sternly. He actually sticks out his tongue!

“Who gives a shit? I’m starving!”

Shawcliff or Heathcliff or whatever the heck it’s called is forgotten. Napoleon now’s your chance, ‘cause the General’s only interested in his belly. 

And I can’t blame him. It’s such a nice one, all firm and taut with that tempting trail of dark hair down the middle. Maybe if they’ve left us those cold meats and dipping sauces again I can drip a little mayo on it by accident? It’s not like he doesn’t know how clumsy I can be with my food. Not after half my ice cream wound up on his chest last Friday…

Deliberate? You bet it was, and he quit complaining when I started cleaning him up with my tongue. Figure he’ll want his revenge though, with the chocolate sauce we’ve ordered tomorrow if I’m really lucky. That stuff gets awfully tangly in a guy’s chest hair and then you really need someone with Malcolm’s diligence to get every last spot off…

Damn. I hope they’ve refilled the ice cube tray. We usually make out – or a little more – after lunch but the way I’m starting to feel, I’m not sure I can wait that long.

I have to. Malcolm’s already shovelling slivers of fish smeared in some kind of nasty-looking green sauce into his mouth, and he misses way too many meals. Got to keep his strength up. Especially with what I’ve got in mind for the rest of the afternoon!


	4. A Fine Family Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is the son of a naval dynasty. This can manifest itself in many different ways...

“D’ you know we’ve only got a week left before we’re due back at Headquarters?”

He sounds like a sulky schoolboy on the last day before a new semester, and I know because I used to be one. “We’re coming back, next leave we get,” I remind him.

“That’ll be _ages_.” 

If I didn’t know better I’d say he was doing it on purpose. He’s laid out in the other hammock, swinging it gently. One hand tucked up behind his head, a bare leg dangling over the side, giving me the pouty mouth and the big sad eyes. Now I know Malcolm doesn’t know how to lead a guy on, and he’s got no idea how goddamn irresistible he is. It wouldn’t occur to him in a million years that seeing him like this, all mournful and mostly nude, might be really, really turning me on.

I can tell myself I just want to console him all I like, it won’t work. I’m fascinated by the rise and fall of his chest; the sweat that glistens in the furrows when he frowns; the way I can peek up the leg of his shorts when he reaches that point in the hammock’s trajectory. I want to feel him up against me: under me, on top of me, around me. I need his taste in my mouth more than I need my next breath but I’m so frozen up with lust I don’t know how to get it.

“Trip?”

“Uh – yeah?”

It’s just as well he wasn’t looking for intellectual stimulation this vacation, because he’s with the wrong man. I’m not dumb, I’m just… preoccupied.

“You’ve got that _salivating dog_ look. I was wondering if you’d like to come over here and join me.”

I swore I’d use this furlough to show him how much I need him and it looks, physically at least, like the message has gotten through. “’m not sure I can move.”

It’s true. Ever tried getting out of a hammock with a giant boner and legs that’ve turned to liquid under your lover’s sexiest smirk? Neither have I, and I’m not about to embarrass myself by going splat on my face now, either.

I used to hate smug bastards and there’s no one does _smug_ better than him. “Best come to you then, hadn’t I?”

He’s incredibly graceful and when he’s wearing nothing but a tiny pair of light blue shorts I get to see every muscle flex while he swings down and prowls over. He’s playing it cool but those things don’t hide much. He might as well be as buck-naked as I am, and he’s brewing up nicely.

He grabs a hold of one of the ropes and gives a heave. “Malcolm, what the hell!”

“Stop wriggling for Christ’s sake!” Okay so if I freeze is this thing going to stop duckin’ and diving like a shuttlepod on one thruster?

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Trip.” Damned if he didn’t just roll his eyes! “I’m the scion of an old naval family. Shagging in hammocks is practically in my blood, so will you please just lie still, hang onto the guide-rope and let me get up?”

I’m hanging on so hard every muscle’s bulging and now my eyes are going the same way because he’s shimmying out of his pants, and I happen to know that’s tough to do elegantly. Even when there’s nothing more than usual in the way.

“Hmm, now stay as still as you can, this won’t hurt a bit.” There’s a glint in his eyes I don’t trust but I’m in no position to object and anyway, when he launches himself up and lands hard on top of me, hanging on while we’re damn near thrown off this dumb unstable _bag_ there’s not much I can do but grunt and wheeze, fighting for breath and clutching – well, whatever the hell’s available. Guide ropes, the binding along the hammock’s edge, Malcolm’s ass…

There’s always a bright side!

“There, that’s better.” Naked Malcolm has a way of distracting me from anything up to and including imminent disaster but he’s right: the stiller we keep, the less this crazy cradle rocks and the less sick this baby feels. There’s just enough heat in the late afternoon sun to keep a good sheen of sweat on bare skin, making the friction that little bit sweeter, and when he stretches up to kiss me, long, wet and oh, so slow I forget mortal danger and just… go with it.

“Mmmm, nice.” He’s panting by the time we’re done and somehow without me noticing he’s gotten tucked between my thighs, rubbing in all the right places. It’s a stretch for him but he’s flailing around past my ear, going for the tube of sun cream I’ve planted on a narrow ledge stuck in the tree. 

It’s a neat idea: a rustic shelf just big enough for a glass of something cold and a tube of something slippery, and I’ve never been more glad of it when the gloopy stuff drips off Malcolm’s finger and onto my belly. Did he do that on purpose? 

It’s cold enough to raise goosebumps and when he slides a finger through it, spreading it around nice and easy, I get shivers to the ends of my toes.

Then he decides to grease up something else and I damn near upturn the both of us. “ _Jee_ -sus!”

“Ssshhh, you’ll have us over at this rate,” he chides, like it’s my fault I can’t control my limbs when he’s sticking his fingers up my ass. There’s a warm feeling flowing right through me, then he gets a tip on my hotspot and the general heat turns into a towering inferno straight up my spine.

“Ma’com!”

Yes I know that was me, but only ‘cause there’s nobody else here likely to be yelling his name. With one finger making circles on my walls and the middle one playing with my prostate what do you want, sparkling conversation?

I can hardly remember my own name but I don’t need it, long as I can choke out his. Paradise melts but his face is still clear, that sly smirk all I can see while he works me, spattering kisses over my face, neck and chest. Screw falling: I’m makin’ this baby fly now, clawing his back, needing more of that smooth, silky skin under my hands. There’s explosions going off in my head, my asshole, everywhere and don’t you dare stop Malcolm, bring those fingers back right now, you hear me?

I can hear myself, but I’m not making a whole lot of sense. _Uuuhhh! Mmmmm! Yeeaaahhh! Aaaahhhh!_ Roughly translated: it’s good darlin’, gimme more!

He understands, dropping those sweet, soothing kisses on my face while he grabs onto the rope and again there’s a second we’re almost upside-down. He’s got that tight, focussed look and when he gasps I know why. He’s got to get himself good and slick and – oh. Oh. _Oh!_

My ring stretches, then pops, and my last brain cell goes with it. He’s sliding in slow and steady and it’s so good, the friction, velvet and steel against silk. I’m flexing, rippling around him, helping ease him in while he grabs at my biceps, pushing himself up off my chest, giving me that little tilt of the hip that… that…that…

Yeah. He just hit my prostate, dead on. 

We’re a small boat in a storm being thrown together by the motion and it’s incredible, stimulating me everywhere, Malcolm riding it and me like he’s controlling the elements themselves. Fire in my belly; wild ocean around us; the wind against my cheek when I turn my head, threshing into another hot, hard kiss. He’s master of them all and oh God, his _cock!_ It’ll come out through my skull any minute, and I don’t care.

It’s more than my ass: he’s filling me completely, possessing me. The pressure of him swells into my belly, sparks of sensation fizzing along every nerve and I’m so close now, pleasure surging out of my toes, burning me up from inside. My moans and his grunts are melding, my last few functioning muscles working ‘round his length and he’s shaking too, he wants to come and I need him with me, need him so bad…

Trust Malcolm Reed to set off the biggest damn explosion in the galaxy!

It’s like being at the heart of a supernova. There’s a moment of _knowing_ right on the edge, where I can see and feel everything: his fierce, hungry expression; the drop of sweat that dribbles down his nose; every millimetre of his flesh, inside and out as it glides against mine. Then it hits.

It starts in my ass and blows out from there: pleasure hot and raw as superheated plasma that rips through me, leaves me screaming, sobbing, grabbing my man as he goes still the last second before it grips him too and he comes hard and long, every pulse giving me another little shock, kick-starting my senses to begin the lazy float down from my high. The hammock’s still rocking but it’s gentler now, as if the hurricane’s blown through.

Except the hurricane’s collapsed on my chest, whimpering quietly as he drifts back to earth. “Your daddy’d be proud of you, keepin’ up that old tradition,” I murmur.

He’s adorable the first few dopey moments after, arching into my touch when I bury my hands in that fabulous chocolate satin hair. Giggly and silly, all his defences down. “Mmmm, not sure about that,” he mumbles. Whoa, Malcolm!

When he tries to snuggle in closer the hammock dips starboard as if the stabiliser’s gone offline and I’m flailing, grabbing at the ropes, my guts rolling like I’ve dipped to zero-g. Malcolm? He just lets it happen, loose as a ragdoll ‘til the rocking subsides. 

“Honestly, Tucker, you’ll break both our necks if you carry on like that,” he says, casual as you like. Is he laughing at me again?

He gives a little roll and he’s off, toppling over the side and landing sure as a gymnast on his feet. I’ll pretend I didn’t notice his knees giving way as long as he doesn’t expect me to follow because I’m so soft and sated I’d probably melt into the sand. I’m smothered in come, sweaty and likely scarlet in the face but he’s gazing at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and I wish he’d stop it, because it might just make me cry.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.”

“Really?” Guess he’s bigger on the old _naval tradition_ thing than I realised, but I’ll admit -that’s a good one. “Darlin’ you should’ve told me…”

He goes a pretty pink, even under his tan. “How _does_ one raise a subject like that? Morning, Trip, I’d like to shag you in the hammock today if you don’t mind?”

“Malcolm, you can _shag_ me anyplace, anytime, alright?” It’s a sliver of insecurity that’s like a dagger in my chest and suddenly getting upright’s a priority so I can cuddle those doubts away. “Hell, you can do it on the bridge in front of the whole of Alpha Shift!”

“That’s obviously your fantasy, you exhibitionist Yank.” I love how he softens into my arms, his head on my shoulder. Makes me feel protective. Like he couldn’t have me on my back and begging for mercy in a nanosecond.

“Nah, that’s the mess in the middle of service.” He bangs his head against my chest but he’s laughing again, bashfulness forgotten and that’s what I wanted. “C’mon. Some shipwrecked sailor’s just come all over you. Figure could use a shower.”

Okay, there’s a great big ocean out there we could wash off in but I’d most likely find myself doing that alone. A little box with a bamboo screen and a soapy, slippery Malcolm to share it sounds a lot more fun!


	5. Paradise Lost?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to go home. Trip reflects on the past few weeks. Malcolm's got an eye on the future.

Well, it’s here.

It’s the first thought that hits me, before my eyes are open and my mind’s fully online. Our last day in paradise. _Time to go home._

It shouldn’t make my heart sink. I love my job; he’ll be right beside me. It’s just that we’ve been free here. No pips. No well-meaning captain or crewmates. Just Trip and Malcolm. Everything to each other.

It’s not until his soft snore hits my collarbone I realise the gods of this place have one last treat in store. He’s still asleep.

Guess he wore himself out pretty good last night.

I’ve never been a morning kind of guy. It stands to reason Malcolm is. If I’m lucky he lies quietly waiting for me to come ‘round, else he finds some special way to make the transition out of sleep more bearable. It hurts to know once we’re back aboard he’ll be scrambling out of bed the minute the alarm sounds, no time to nuzzle or play. _Duty calls, Commander._

Sometimes I hate duty.

Right now I don’t have to think of it. I can ease myself awake nice and slow, and fall in love all over again.

He’s beautiful. 

Dark hair all mussed and tumbling toward closed eyelids; a flush dipping into the hollows beneath his cheekbones; and those lips, all pink and pouting, pulled into a smile even in the deepest sleep. He looks so young; so vulnerable it breaks my heart. How could I ever have hurt this gentle, beautiful, _incredible_ man?

He actually purrs as he snuggles into me and I catch my breath, holding still ‘til I hear him sigh and settle back into his dreams. Tensing up like that’s tugged the muscles around my asshole and they’re not happy, but the faint burn’s a weird kind of pleasure of its own. Reminds me what put it there last night.

The one thing I never expected for our last night was Malcolm suddenly stopping our foreplay and climbing off the bed, givin’ a little swing to his hips while he sashayed out the door. We’ve kept it open every night, let the moonlight and the sound of the surf flood our haven as we’ve loved each other senseless, and I was planning on doing the same then. “Malcolm?”

He just smiled over his shoulder. He knew he didn’t have to say a word. Even stark naked and hard enough to drill rocks, I’d follow him anywhere. 

I never expected to be running – okay, waddling – down a moonlit beach toward the rolling sea, but then I never expected to get psychically bonded to a messed-up Vulcan either. Or pregnant. Or any of the billion and one things that’ve happened to me in the last few years. On that scale, chasing a buck-naked Malcolm under the stars isn’t such a bad deal.

He stopped with the water lapping his ankles and I damn near passed out on the spot. If one of the perfect beings of Atlantis stepped out of the waves he’d look just like that, with silver starlight cascading down his body, hair and eyes almost black and that great big beautiful boner standing up tall and proud against his belly. If he hadn’t crooked a finger I swear I’d ’ve stood staring at him all night.

“Malcolm, what’s…” 

He put a finger on my lips, shivering all over when I licked it. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted this,” he growled and oh, what that low, husky rumble does to me! “Making love under the stars with the waves lapping around us… tell me you’ve not imagined it!”

I couldn’t, because I have, but I never thought he’d go for it, and somehow I had enough wits left to say so. 

He laughed. “I’m game, so long as you’re happy with bottom,” he said. 

Happy? Try delirious and you’re getting closer!

He stirs; mumbles into my neck and I drape an arm over him, keeping him close. To my dying day I’ll remember what happened next.

He urged me onto my back, each roll of the ocean enveloping me in a full-body caress. I dug my butt into the wet sand, the squidge of it in my crease feeling weirdly erotic. I buried my elbows deep as I could for purchase, propping myself up with bent knees, waiting.

It must be the yoga. He lowered himself onto me in perfect balance with his hands behind, parting those gorgeous, biteable cheeks, his eyelashes a-fluttering when I arched up to meet him, mouth making that perfect little _O_ at the feel of me breaching his softened barrier. The heat of him, the way his channel closes in around me… it makes my head spin just thinking about it. 

“Oh, Trip!” His sigh was part of the wind and waves; as much a part of the elements as our bodies, rising and falling with the water. At one with Nature? Hell, I’ve never felt more at one with the whole damn universe!

My eyelids felt weighted but I forced them up, needing to keep the image of him fixed in my brain as he rode me, his head thrown back, perfect, sharp features going from tight to slack every time I hit his prostate. I’m accurate too: taught by the best as Hoshi’d say after all their hours of target practise. Even with him squeezing around me, those fine, firm muscles of his rippling along my entire length I know exactly where I’m going, and I’ll find that sweet spot every time. 

He’s spectacular. When he’s bouncing up and down on my dick, moaning like it’s the finest thing he’s ever had, all tight and hot and silky around me, I’m as close to heaven as it’s possible for a man to be. With the sand gritty and damp up my ass, the surf kissing my sides and Malcolm on top, howling out my name to the stars… if I’ve ever come harder in my life, I don’t remember it.

I remember the way it started: the sharp, cramping sensation as every muscle tightens, ready to blow. Then the great swell of pleasure rolling over me like the ocean, lifting me up and throwing me so high I’m there among the stars, and they’re shooting by my eyes. It’s always like that, blazing light and fireworks, the sensation of being tossed through a vortex, spinning away into… nothing.

I’m sure I passed out for a minute, because the next thing I knew he was groaning, flexing his legs as he clambered off and held out his hand. “Fuck, that was good!” he said cheerfully. 

Malcolm’s got a real way with words but usually he goes for fancier, more eloquent ones. I’m the opposite. “Hell, yeah!”

I was so loose I almost knocked him over when he dragged me upright, making a big deal of dusting the wet sand off my butt. “Somebody needs a shower,” he chided.

“Malcolm, there’s a great big ocean right here!”

He actually tutted at me! “And on the bottom of that ocean – more sand. Clean feet on the sheets on the last night, Mister Tucker. Can’t leave the room in a mess for the next guests, you know.”

It wasn’t the reprimand that got me doing as he said - it was the smile on his face that screamed _play it my way and you won’t regret it_. And I didn’t.

He behaved in the shower, if you can call that gentle groping while we washed each other good behaviour. Petted my dry with a big white fluffy towel, almost purring with delight when I returned the favour. Then he grabbed me hard, pushed me up against the wall and fucked the goddamn daylights out of me. 

His hand wrapped around my cock, his teeth digging in the side of my neck and that magnificent dick of his pounding hard into my ass, the slap of his balls against me seeming to echo as loud as our cries. He’s all I’m aware of when he takes me like that, hard and demanding. Like a black hole pulling all the matter and energy around into himself, that’s Malcolm.

Not that you’d think it, seeing him sleeping in my arms now. He must’ve really knocked himself out.

He pulled me back to bed without disengaging the grappler and no: the dirty metaphors around our jobs really don’t end. Fell onto the mattress with his flaccid penis still snug inside my body and his hand flat on my belly, like he was trying to stroke himself through my abs. “Okay like this?” he whispered, gently nibbling my ear. I nodded.

“Good.” He moved down to my nape, feathering kisses that I felt down to my toes. “Then you don’t mind…”

I minded even less a while later when he started to swell and lengthen, the pressure building through me with every small pelvic thrust. I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into the sensation and the sound of his voice, a smoky thread of endearments and pure filth that flowed with our movements. God knows how long it took for us to finish. I just remember the ghosting brush of his finger against my tip, the scrape of his calluses down my shaft and the long, slow fall over the edge into bliss. 

Yes I’m sore this morning, but it was worth it!

I’ve gotten so lost I’ve not noticed him wake up and he’s gazing at me with those wide sea-grey eyes, serene as a summer dawn. “Hey,” I hear myself croak, my throat closing up at just the wrong moment. It’s his fault, looking at me like that. 

As if I’m all he’s ever dreamed of and he can’t believe I’m here.

Trust me Malcolm, I know the feeling.

“Hello.” He’s almost shy as I stroke his face, running my fingertips over those fantastic cheekbones. I’m going to miss these quiet, lazy mornings when we’re both racing to make our stations; when I won’t have the time to trace his delicately-drawn mouth or feel the rasp of his unshaven skin against my palm. “What time do they pick us up?”

“Ten a.m.” It didn’t sound too early when I made the reservations but now… I know it’s not even eight but there’s a bucket of cold water sloshing through my guts. I don’t wanna go!

“We’re coming back, you know.” He must read the despair in my face. Heck I’m not good at hiding my feelings, and Malcolm’s way more observant than most. Then I watch his facial muscles tighten, deepening the lines that crinkle up the corners of his eyes when he laughs and I get it. He’s feeling it too.

The terror of normality. Leaving Trip and Malcolm, going back to the commander and the lieutenant. Going back to Enterprise.

Facing T’Pol.

You know, I haven’t thought about her since we left Vulcan. 

“It’ll be all right, you know.” I’m not sure who he’s trying to convince: me or himself. “It’s not as if we weren’t… together before.”

“Yeah, but not like this.”

And that’s what’s put the cold block around my heart, because while we were lovers before this vacation there was a difference. T’Pol was always there between us.

“I’ve liked havin’ you to myself, Mal.”

The nickname softens him. “You’ve spoilt me rotten, but it’ll be fine. Nobody’s going to stop a minesweeper to look at us, as my granddad would’ve said. We won’t have as much time naked, but we’ll get by.”

“’s not just the sex!”

Listen to me! I sound like a whiney six-year-old!

“No.” He’s got that thoughtful look on his face, so he’s probably contemplating the sex himself right now. “We’ll have to share each other with our friends and we do both have work to do… but that’s life. As long as we’re on the same starship and I can shovel a sandwich with you then collapse into your bed after a triple shift, I’ll be happy.”

“Anytime.” I know he’s right, but I’m still nervous. It’s the effect T’Pol had on my way back when she used to peer down her nose at us pathetic humans like she was scared of getting something nasty off us. After all we’ve been through – how much I care for my Vulcan friend – you’d think I’d be over that.

He’s watching me, those little creases between his eyebrows starting to form. They’re cute but I don’t like seeing them, because they mean he’s fretting about something. Since there’s only us here, guess it’s got to be me.

“It’s just – hell, I don’t know what it is!” Maybe I sound a fool but I’d sooner him think I’m crazy than worry another second. “I’ve not thought about T’Pol or the cap’n or any of them for weeks and I know I don’t have t’ think about her anymore, but…”

“You went through a lot together and no – I’m not talking about the bond.” He sucks in his lips and I know when he opens his mouth again they’ll be all rosy and damp, just begging to be kissed. Thinking about them helps blot the pain that touches my heart because I know exactly what – _who_ – he means.

Elizabeth. A bond between her mother and me no Vulcan priest can break, however short her life; however little part we played in creating it. 

He’s so earnest, and his generosity breaks me apart. I know Malcolm better than anyone. I know he’ll get a twinge when he sees me talking to her, when I squeeze her shoulder (and I will – I’m a tactile kind of guy) but it’s okay. He knows.

I belong to him. Only him.

“And just think what a relief it must be for her, not having all your complicated emotions rattling around her head anymore.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Sometimes I’m a selfish bastard, because all I’ve been aware of is the difference to me. “Guess it can’t have helped her control issues, havin’ a loose cannon like me stuck in her skull.”

“A neural scan would’ve blown Sickbay to smithereens,” he says happily, and only the thought of a _really_ big bang makes his eyes sparkle that way. “And I’d hate to dent your ego, but if you’re expecting _jealous scenes_ when you hold my hand…”

“That mean you’re gonna let me?” I wasn’t expecting that! We’ve not gotten round to discussing rules yet, but I know my Reed. It’ll come.

“Off duty only of course.” He gives me that look from under his lashes that’s supposed to be coy but winds up just plain cheeky. “And as long as you don’t let her hold the other one.”

“Even if she tried I wouldn’t.” He wouldn’t joke about it if he was really worried. That’s the way Malcolm is. Bottles things up.

I tried it once. Almost drove myself insane.

“It’s just tough to be leaving paradise, that’s all.”

He doesn’t respond for a minute, then softly, almost under his breath, he starts to sing.

It’s a little-known fact that the famous Lieutenant Reed can hold a tune. I found out just after I’d gotten my mouth around him for the first time, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t planning on serenading me back then.

This time, he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s looking me dead in the eye as he croons the corny old words.

_“If Paradise is half as nice_  
_As heaven that you take me to_ ,  
_Who needs Paradise?_  
_I’d rather have you.”_

I’m beyond moved because Shakespeare couldn’t have put it more perfectly. “Right back at y’ darlin’,” I croak, and it’s just as well he knows better than to expect me to sing. Hell, my chest’s so tight I’m amazed I can talk!

Tahiti, Enterprise – even Vulcan. It doesn’t matter where I am. As long as I have Malcolm’s strong arms around me in the morning, his smiling face on the pillow next to mine, I’m as close to heaven as a man can get. 

I’ve known that smile for four years but this vacation’s shown me the little details I’d not picked up before. It’s like a fog’s cleared from my brain and I’m seeing for the first time.

The sudden bluish glints that flash through his eyes when he’s teasing; the way they crinkle at the corners. Yes I knew about those things, but they never touched me.

How could I not have known how much I adore him?

He dips in and kisses me, feathering his tongue against my lips ‘til they part and let him in and there and then I get it – all of it.

The past doesn’t matter. My being a jackass fool doesn’t matter. Because I know exactly how precious Malcolm Reed is now, and I’m never going to forget it again.


End file.
